At the Threshold: A Birthday with Her Spirit Beside Me

56. Combination of Analog and Digital Collage by Stella Kalaw

I find myself at a quiet threshold.

I just turned 56—the age my sister, Ate Marica, was when she passed away. We were born 13 months apart. That truth rests both heavily and tenderly, with gratitude and grief intertwined.

She should be here.

I wish she were.

But I carry her with me.

Sometimes, I still hear her voice in my head. I don't want to forget the way she sounded. I'm grateful for the signs she continues to send, assuring us of her presence: butterflies, the scent of coffee, a 20-peso coin in my pocket, whiskey.

She was the one who reminded us, through her actions, that it’s the small things that matter most.

She lived that truth.

Quietly.

Generously.

Caught up in our own lives, we didn’t always notice. For a time, she felt overlooked.

I should’ve done more—we all should have. I still carry some of that regret with me.

Now, I choose to be intentional: to pay more attention, to express appreciation more often through words or actions.

In the hospital, as her body weakened and the days blurred with uncertainty, she kept saying a phrase that stayed with me: “Sige, subukan natin.” Okay, let’s try it. She remained open to her caregivers’ suggestions, adjustments to her medications, or repositioning her legs to ease the pain. Even the smallest hope of relief was met with trust.

She didn't choose the hand she was dealt, but she met it with bravery—the kind that leans into possibility in the face of fear. That spirit was woven in the way she lived her life: her fascination with gadgets and early adoption of technology; her eclectic taste in music from Chopin, to Sondheim, to Swing Out Sister, to Laufey to EDM; her love for trying new whiskeys, unfamiliar dishes, and fresh ideas; her adventurous soul that took her driving through faraway places like the Scottish Highlands, the west coast of Ireland, and the scenic byways of the South of France.

She was always willing to give something a try.

So when I feel fear or resistance, when my default behavior is to say no, I remind myself to pause, feel her soft nudge, and tell myself:

Sige, subukan natin.

If she could speak to me now, at this milestone, I imagine she’d say:

“I didn’t want to leave you. Cancer was a curveball I never saw coming. I thought I had more time. I just wanted to be with you all a little longer.”

And then she’d add:

“Enjoy mo lang, Stells.” Just enjoy it. Live your life to the fullest.

---

Last month, GT, Malyn, Marina, and I met up in New York City. What began as a simple trip for my brother to renew his license became something else entirely: a reunion. Cousin Anna joined us, along with GT’s sweet dog, Pina. I kept my promise to always bring Ate Marica with me. I carefully wrapped her photo, printed on an acrylic block, in a blue REI camping towel and tucked it into my bag. Wherever we gathered, she would be there too.

On Friday night, Malyn and Marina took me to see an original Broadway musical, Maybe Happy Ending—a must-see for its heartwarming and hopeful message. It was the perfect dose of dopamine that lifted our spirits.

Over the weekend, we had Careng and Bobwen over at Malyn’s apartment, and I can’t tell you enough how wonderful it was to laugh out loud again.

I also had dinner with my longtime friend Ed at Plum, a cozy Vietnamese spot on the Upper West Side.We chuckled and cried over small plates of chive pancakes, kimchi fries, vegetable and shrimp pho, mango sticky rice, and Holong pearls for dessert. I shared stories from the last few months in Manila with Ate Marica and my family while he spoke of caring for his mother and updates on his career. Our non-stop conversation ended when the staff gently informed us they were closing for the night.

We had a big brunch on Sunday with old friends. “Watch out for rainbows,” Laura Lynne Jackson, a mother, psychic medium and author of the book Signs, said when she answered my question on a public event online that happened to fall on my sister’s birthday last month. At first, I was skeptical. How could rainbows manifest in the middle of a city like Manhattan? True enough, Ate Marica kept her promise— she showed us rainbows!

The reunion was short and sweet but it was just what we needed to rekindle our bond and to reconnect with joy after leaving Manila heartbroken. Late into the night, we looked back at our memories of Ate Marica. Malyn played short video clips from last year’s Barry Manilow concert on her phone where we could hear Ate happily singing along to “Daybreak” and “Copa Copabana.” Our hearts warmed and our eyes welled. She felt alive again from those few minutes of footage.

Marking this birthday without her has reminded me: life is still to be lived with her spirit beside her family.

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